


Paint Me Like One Of Your Arlathan Girls

by Niknakz93



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dorian is a Good Friend, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Rabid nugs, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Yes I said that, frescoes and fumbling, paint me like one of your arlathan girls, so much of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:59:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6765928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niknakz93/pseuds/Niknakz93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She was married. To Solas. Who quite possibly didn't even like her."</p><p>Clan Lavellan turn up at Skyhold without warning and announce that their First, Inquisitor Callaya, is promised to a man from another clan. And even worse, that they intend on staying to see everything through. In her moment of blind panic, Callaya blurts out the first thing that pops into her head: that she is already married. To Solas.</p><p>Faced with the prospect of admitting her lie and risk banishment from her clan, Callaya convinces Solas to go along with her potentially disastrous plan of trying to convince her Keeper that they are happily married. Fluff and shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint Me Like One Of Your Arlathan Girls

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first proper story on A03. And I am pretty new(ish) to the DA fandom, so hello there! (Totally not nervous at all, what are you talking about?!) I finished Inquisition last month and it promptly destroyed me. Trespasser? It casually shattered what was left behind. My Solvellan heart.  
> This crazy idea came to me while I was doing another playthrough and it just never left me. Mostly fluff and fun, but there is angst too, because this is Solas we are talking about. He is the God of Angst. He needs a t-shirt reading it on the front.  
> 

She had faced dragons deep in the Emprise du Lion, demons that were a little (okay, _very)_ touchy-feely with their tentacles, bandits more hair than face. And she had suffered Bull’s horrific, maiden-killing jokes. So why was she quite so terrified?

“Are you _sure_ that they gave no inclination of their plans to travel to Skyhold?” Cullen asked for the… Callaya had lost track how many times he had asked now. Five? Ten? No, more than that. “No letter or message of any kind?” he pressed, gaze settled upon the approaching caravan of aravels. They had a good view from the top of the chilly battlements; the bright red sails had been a bloody beacon against the snow and ice, attracting their attention from miles away. The scouts had relayed the information back at once about the approaching elves; crimson in colour with ironbark rigging, a specific symbol daubed upon the fabric in white. Callaya had almost fainted from shock and utter surprise when the Commander called her urgently to the War room and informed her of their approaching guests, passing on their words with the scouts that went out to meet them: “We are Clan Lavellan, and we have come to join you.”

“You received correspondence from them before,” Cullen carried on up on the battlements, rubbing the palm of his hand across the dark stubble of his chin. He’s _stressed out?_ Callaya thought in distant amusement. I _am stressed out! My clan have appeared across the ocean from where they should be. Why._ Why?

“After our dealings with them – protecting them from the bandits – they made no incli… they said they were remaining in the Free Marches,” Callaya groaned, thoughts a jumbled and incoherent mess. As much as her heart sang with unadulterated joy at the sight of them, there was a terrible fear there too. And _disappointment._ Just as she was beginning to understand how to live outside of the forest and the safety of her clan, they were back. Callaya wondered why she imagined shackles appearing around her wrists when she looked down at her hands. “I will speak with them the moment they arrive, of course. Is the path to Skyhold clear?” They had journeyed so very far. To fall now when their destination was right before them…

“Our soldiers have swept the area and found no danger. You may rest easy, Inquisitor, and enjoy the evening with them.”

Callaya let loose a soft sigh of relief and nodded her thanks. She turned away, intending to head straight up to her quarters to wash and change her clothes into something… she didn’t know. _I’ll figure out more as I go along,_ Callaya decided, feeling almost numb as she descended the steep steps from the battlements, footsteps sure and steady. “I’d come down soon, Commander,” she called to the man, still stood like an unmovable statue before the ramparts. Callaya squinted up towards the darkening sky; every moment that passed, it grew even more dark and foreboding. “It looks like rain.”

 

**oOoOo**

 

“So we get to meet the whole happy family? Chuckles will be pleased,” Varric laughed the very moment she stepped out of her room with her wheat-blonde hair somewhat tamed and clothes… normal. Casual. It wasn’t some fancy Orlesian outfit, or even some gift from a Ferelden. It was… her. Plain. Safe. Maybe _too_ plain, Callaya now worried; what if they thought that she wasn’t being treated properly? Given poor clothing because of her ears? Yes, she would change again.

“I don’t know about happy,” she replied, kicking off her shoes and stooping down to pick them up. _I am no shem,_ Callaya thought determinedly. _I don’t need them thinking that I have converted, forgotten my roots._ “This is a surprise to us all.”

Her feet were cold against the flagstones. Maybe she would keep them on; it _was_ cold in the Frostbacks, after all. Never had she acquired her people’s… super feet. That was the only way Callaya could describe them. And super they were, for whom else could clamber up scorching hot rock and flit across frozen rivers like the Dalish? Maybe Bull. But a certain amount of swearing would accompany the endeavour.

“Look – they’re your family, right?” Varric said, pulling a face as the Inquisitor growled and tossed the boots onto the floor for some reason he was blind to. “And you’re the _Inquisitor._ Pretty safe to be around y-” He stilled as he realized his words and Callaya arched a brow at him, a pointed look upon her pretty little face. “Or not. You get what I mean. Maybe they just missed you, or really do want protection? Or they’re here to marry you off now you’re _the_ most important person in Thedas. Shit, no, the _world_. Lot of elfy guys lining up for your hand and all. Well, maybe not _that_ hand…” his gaze lingered upon her marked hand; Callaya shoved it into her pocket, clenching it into a fist. No, definitely not that hand. Callaya shuddered; it was a joke, of course, but it still made her feel faintly nauseous. Being matched to a man from another clan _was_ her destiny, like all Firsts unless love took them first, but it didn’t mean that she had to like it. If she returned to her clan after… after everything, would it still be her fate? Or would she not even make it that far, smote down by the ancient Magister who was proclaiming himself a God?

So many questions and she had no answers for any of them yet.

“I promise to kidnap you if he’s ugly,” Varric smirked, placing a hand upon his heart. “But only if he’s ugly. You are far too sad, kid. It wouldn’t hurt to see you smile now and again.”

Callaya looked so horrified by the prospect of arranged marriage that Varric felt guilty of his words. _Oh come on,_ he thought, very nearly throwing his hands up into the air. _You’ve punched wolves in the face! You have gotten drunk and announced to all of Herald’s Rest that you have streaked naked in the moonlight. In a forest!_

Now _that_ one had surprised him; she was far from the streaking type. If streaking had a type. Maybe everyone was the streaking type once intoxicated enough. Either way, it was going into his book.

“No man…” Callaya started, but she merely sighed and turned away, her shoulders slumped. “I’ll be out in a minute.” And she went to change again, leaving the dwarf stood in the empty hall with a mixture of pity and bemusement on his face. Callaya wasn’t as weak as she sometimes portrayed herself; he knew that as well as the next guy did. _Poor kid,_ he thought wearily before returning to his temporary desk set up next to the fire. At least with everyone gawping over the imminent arrival of the Lavellan clan, he had a moment’s peace and quiet. But just a moment. In this day and age, you didn’t get more than that.

 

**oOoOo**

 

It took her much longer to decide on her outfit the second time she tried. Callaya couldn’t remember a time where she had been so fussy over what to wear. But as Josephine said, _first impressions._ Right now, they were important. Not just for herself, but for the Inquisition. There was no rest for the wicked. Not until the baddie was ding-dong-dead, as Sera put it

“I see the Inquisition has grown once more,” greeted Callaya the second she stepped from her quarters and shut the door behind her. She jumped in surprise; she couldn’t help it. It was in her nature.

“Must everyone _pounce_ on me today?” she practically growled before she could hold her tongue, rubbing a finger against her throbbing temple. It was only Varric who had done the pouncing, but it felt like all of Skyhold now with her raging headache. _Maybe I should slip back upstairs and grab some elfroot before… no. Stop running away._ You _are not allowed to._ The Inquisition made her feel like a nug trapped in a cage at times. _No escape. No dashing off into the forest for quiet._

“Pouncing implies physical contact,” Solas mused. “I did nothing of the sort, da’len.”

“No,” Callaya replied, thoroughly distracted. Her clan was here. Everything and nothing had changed. “No, you didn’t pounce. You’re not a mountain cat. You are not… furry.”

“Inquisitor?”

Callaya realized what she had said without conscious thought and felt the tips of her ears burn red. “ _Ir abelas_ ,” she apologized. “I am sorry. My thoughts are… chaotic. They are running away from me.”

He merely nodded. “Quite understandable, given the current situation.” Callaya didn’t miss the undercurrent of disapproval in his normally pleasant voice. He had always been respectful to her, a friendly face within a sea of shemlen. Having Solas around, a fellow elf, quieted her worries better than any herb or advice. Even when they had clashed on multiple occasions over opinions concerning the People, he was a comfort. They didn’t talk often now since Haven, and when they did it was very often about subjects relating to the Inquisition. Safe conversations, for Callaya had no inclination to clash with him again. If anything, it gave her a headache to rival the one she was currently suffering. And she didn’t want to make the only elf close to her hate her.

“You don’t approve?” she ventured, knowing already what he would say. It was like poking a sleeping dragon in the eye and expecting it to not blast fire at you.

“My approval matters not. My opinion would only infuriate you, and I have not forgotten our last conversation on similar matters.” He said it so matter-of-factly that it made Callaya’s heart sink a little; did he not consider her _falon?_ A friend? But to be friends, she supposed that they actually had to talk. About things. Without the arguing. _I will make more of an effort after this,_ she decided, suddenly determined. He would understand. He would… he had to.

“You will come and meet them with me,” the Inquisitor announced in a firm voice, adding when Solas opened his mouth to reply, his brow furrowing into a displeased line, “There is no way you can refuse me. My clan are _not_ what you are expecting, I assure you. We traded with the cities, we were-”

“Da’len, I very respectfully refuse.”

“Refusal is not an option, I’m afraid. Must I drag you? Kicking and screaming, maybe? That would be quite the sight.”

“Quite the sight indeed. And a little disturbing for those watching.” Solas set his shoulders in a defiant stance and Callaya thought that he was about to burst into a long and complicated list about why he didn’t want to meet them. But he did nothing of the sort. In fact, he surprised her completely.

“Once,” he replied, tone assuring her that there would be no bargaining. No second chance. “Just this once, then you do not force this on me again. Do I have your word, Inquisitor?”

Always _Inquisitor_ or _da’len_ and never Callaya, she realized sadly. But if it was the only chance she was going to get… Callaya sighed. “Ach! Fine.” She grumbled to herself in Dalish as she turned away, hoping that she didn’t hear what words she said under her breath. They were bold, even for her. The destruction of Haven had pummelled much of her meekness into the ground. And facing that… monster… she still had nightmares about it. Callaya wasn’t sure if they’d ever truly go away, but refused to allow them to interfere with her duties. Weakness was a trait she couldn’t have now. It was not her choice anymore. Her life belonged to too many, and the unbelievable weight of it all almost crushed her on occasions. How could one be surrounded by people constantly, yet feel completely alone in the world at the same time? It was maddening.

 

“You look tired,” Solas noted now, falling into step beside her. She walked surprisingly fast for such a little thing, it had always surprised him. Quick, lithe like a mountain cat. Or one of the halla she so cherished. “Are you sleeping well enough?”

She barely slept at all, which was stupid with how much she needed the rest before facing the day. “I am fine. No need to sound troubled.”

He didn’t get the chance to reply as they stepped off the bottom step that led to the tall and imposing gates, watching as they rose with a loud grinding sound that made Callaya flinch. _So jumpy!_ she cursed herself. Shouts sounded and the aravels rolled through them just moments later, tall and bright against the grey stone of Skyhold. _We should add more colour,_ Callaya thought, pausing to gaze around at the bare walls. _Not just banners._   _Skyhold is a_ _sanctuary, our home. It should be bright and happy for morale, not dark and militaristic._

Solas was positively radiating disapproval by the time the aravels stopped and the halla looked uneasily around, but Callaya didn’t care. She felt almost angry. _He should take more pride in himself._ He shot her a sideways glance when she giggled softly, raising a brow, a silent request for her to elaborate. She didn’t. Solas. Pride. He _was_ Pride. And now he probably thought her even crazier, laughing to herself like the Dread Wolf after he locked away the Gods.

“Oh, _da’len!_ ” a familiar and loving voice called from the head aravel. Callaya beamed, dashing forward and throwing her arms around her Keeper. It was not the official greeting, but she didn’t care right then; her family was here. Here! In this land of ice and destruction. Callaya had missed them dearly. “It brings great joy to my heart to see you safe and well, my dear First. Your exploits reached even us and they had us fearing the worst. And we are so very proud of you and how you are representing the People.”

Her heart fluttered. “Why are you here, _hahren_? Your letter… You said that you had all settled in Wycome? That it was safe?” Her eyes widened as the Keeper gently grasped her hands within his own. “You sent no message ahead.”

“I apologize, da’len.” Keeper Istmaethoriel glanced down to their joined hands. “It was not safe to send word of our movements. After the bandits, we did indeed move to more sheltered ground. But alas… we were set upon those who called themselves your enemies. The red grew out of them, little one. They chased us, we fled. It was a blessing that we all arrived unscathed, for the road was long and hard.”

Callaya’s heart hurt so terribly. This was her fault. _All_ her fault. The red Templars had gone after them to weaken her, after all. “They hunted you because of me,” she breathed, hands trembling very slightly. “Ir abelas, I…” there were no words. She should have had some of the Inquisition’s forces protect them, not some Wycome lord.

“It was inevitable,” a quiet voice spoke behind them. “Terrible, but inevitable. Yet Skyhold is not the safer option.”

Callaya turned to Solas as Istmaethoriel did. She saw confusion flit across her Keeper’s face as he appraised the man, pointed ears immediately identifying him as one of the People. His eyes slowly roved Solas’ face, and Callaya understood; he was greatly taken aback by the lack of _vallaslin._ Confusion gave way to curiosity. He inclined his head very slightly. “Greetings, _falon_ of my dear _da’len_.”

At least Solas hadn’t outright insulted them. Callaya sighed internally in relief as he returned the greeting in their native tongue, expression as blank as paper. Solas didn’t remain there long as he turned to Callaya and said, a little too stiffly for her taste, “I must regretfully return to my work, Inquisitor. I shall see you when it calls for. Dareth shiral.”

 _I should have bargained for him to remain more than a few minutes!_ Callaya felt almost cheated by Solas’ retreating back. Clearly he had gotten the better side of the deal.

 _‘Regretfully’_ her ass.

“He did not even share with us his name,” Keeper Istmaethoriel noted, turning to the aravels as the clan began to disembark. Callaya watched as a few soldiers approached carefully to inform them where they could keep the halla safe. The stables, probably. They would undoubtedly refuse; the Dalish preferred to be close to their halla. “And he bears no markings. No _vallaslin?_ Does he not belong to a clan? He is not one of the city.”

How could she begin to explain? Without antagonising them, that was. “His name is Solas. He is a very valued and incredibly talented member of the Inquisition, Keeper. In fact, it was he who led us here to Skyhold after we lost Haven. Solas is… not like us. He has been alone for a long time, I feel. Strange though he may be, he is one of the People and I trust him. We have fought side-by-side in battle countless times.” She left out the fact that he could step into the Fade. _That_ would raise questions. And she felt like she was betraying him, somehow. It was not some incredibly kept secret, but it felt like a secret and not hers to tell.

Istmaethoriel looked deeply troubled, but his reply soothed Callaya’s worries completely. “If you trust him, then we shall too. If he saved you all by bringing you to _Tarasyl’an Ta’las,_ then we surely owe him our gratitude.” There was no other mention of the lack of _vallaslin,_ and for that, she was thankful _. For now,_ a dark voice at the back of her head reminded her.

Maybe bringing Solas out to meet the clan, however briefly, had been a terrible idea.

Callaya now took the opportunity to greet the other members of the clan, her cheeks hurting from the smile that just couldn’t seem to fade away. Her fatigue was gone and she felt… light. Lighter than she had done in so very long. For the first time since coming to Skyhold, her bones didn’t feel weary.

 

**oOoOo**

 

She spent the day with the Lavellan clan, laughing easily and nuzzling the neck of one of her favourite halla. Leaving him had been a painful ordeal indeed, having known the creature from its birth. Vunin, she was called. _Day_ , for her coat shone like gold in bright sunlight. For a time she had been mistaken as the golden halla, the one that would lead them to safety. Vunin was not that legendary halla, but she was still incredibly special to her. Callaya felt no shame in openly weeping before the people of the Inquisition that had gathered around to watch, amazed at the enchanting creatures. Though she hadn’t seen Solas’ face in the crowds.

When night began to fall, the corner where the Dalish had set up camp was all but left alone to their own devices, the curious crowds dispersed many hours ago. The halla dozed lightly against the side of the aravels, the clan themselves laughing and talking around fires they had set up – with Cullen’s permission. Many of the outhouses were home to something either valuable or potentially explosive. While Callaya assured him that they would be careful, he still felt slightly uneasy. It was only when Istmaethoriel himself spoke to the Commander that his worries finally ebbed away and he returned to his tower for the night.

“Now the shemlen are asleep, we may tell you the… extraordinary news,” Keeper Istmaethoriel smiled from his seat beside the fire, Callaya opposite him. “We have been waiting all day!”

Callaya’s cheeks still hurt from smiling so much. She felt so happy she thought her heart might burst. “Oh, _hahren_?” she asked, thoroughly intrigued. Maybe one of the clan, one of her friends, was getting married? Or even more exciting, expecting an elvhen-blooded child. That would be cause for celebration indeed.

“The Assan Clan joined with us for a time,” the Keeper explained, passing the cup of water to his First. They had turned down the fancy Orlesian wines offered by curious members of the Inquisition offering a hand in friendship. The gesture was thanked, but wine left untouched. “They were moved by your extraordinary feats and wished to join with us. A true honour to the Lavellan clan. Their warriors are fierce and magic strong. Their First, Adain, was only too happy to accept the match myself and Keeper Assan discussed.”

Wait.

“A match?” Callaya was no longer smiling. Her face swiftly morphed into a frown. “Between who?”

“Between you and their First, _da’len,_ of course _!_ ”

She was going to kill Varric. She was going to find him, chop him up into tiny pieces and feed him to blasted Fen’Harel himself and watch the Dread Wolf choke before he could start laughing.

“I… I am overwhelmed, _hahren,_ ” Callaya mumbled, completely numb. But then it began to fade and panic took over. And shortly after, fear. “That is… very generous of them,” she gasped, nodding insistently. “An honour! But I… I cannot marry the Assan’s First, Keeper.”

The clan just stared at her. Keeper Istmaethoriel chuckled good-naturedly. “Adain is a good, strong warrior. You will find him suitable. He is a very good match for you, _da’len._ He was entranced by the tales of your incredible beauty and your powers. He barely even cared that you were the Inquisitor. If only, it made him love you more.”

 _Her incredible beauty. Love her more!_ Callaya lost herself and laughed, sounding as wild as she felt. This was a nightmare, it had to be. _Had_ to be. Because this was almost as bad as the rifts tearing the sky apart all around them. “I’m sorry, ir abelas,” Callaya babbled, thoughts whirling around her. _Marriage. The Inquisition. Rifts. Duty. Cages. So many cages and no keys. No escape._ “I cannot marry this First because… I am already married to another!” it came out before she could stop herself. Desperation had forced her to say it.

“Already-?” there was confusion in the Keeper’s face. In everyone’s expression’s too. “ _Da’len?_ Explain, please!”

“I am already married, Keeper Istmaethoriel,” Callaya breathed, her sun kissed hair falling around her face, shielding her from her clan briefly. “My heart was stolen by… one here… and I have allowed him to keep it.” _Pathetic!_ Her thoughts screamed at her. _Who? Who could be…?_

“Callaya,” her Keeper asked in a hushed voice. “Not a shemlen-?”

“No. Not a shem.” Even pretending, she wouldn’t put them through that. Dorian would have been game for it, of course, thinking it amusing and a great distraction from the boredom that swept him up during the lulls between missions, but the risk of being expelled from the clan for even touching a Tevinter mage made it impossible.

“Then wh-? _Da’len… not… the Unmarked?_ ”

“Yes,” Callaya nodded without thinking. At least Solas was Elvhen. Even if he was lacking _vallaslin_. “Yes. Solas and I are… married. In secret. And I love him, Keeper. He… saved me from my Mark. Saved us all.” Lies. All lies. But… not? He _had_ saved her all those times, that was true enough. But as for love…

The Keeper seemed both horrified and sad, Callaya realized with a jolt. But sad for her, or the clan’s loss? She couldn’t make herself ask, for it frightened her more than the false God ever could.

“It is late.” The Keeper let out a slow and steady breath; Callaya heard it. “It has been a long day and this news is… both joy and not. We will talk tomorrow of this, _da’len._ Providing, of course, your duties allow you to.”

Callaya could barely make herself say goodnight to the clan. She was still reeling and only now did the words she’d uttered finally sink in.

She was supposedly married. To Solas. Who quite possibly didn’t even like her.

“Dread Wolf take me,” Callaya whispered as she closed the door to her quarters. “What have I done?” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for clicking on this little story of mine! All mistakes are my own as this was completed at 4am.


End file.
